Lord of Mysteries: The Forgotten Dreamer

The candlelight flickered. The room remained unchanged, yet everything felt wrong.

Yeaia sat at the edge of their rented bed, fingers curled tightly around the pendulum, as if holding onto it could tether them to reality. But the harder they gripped, the more fragile their sense of self became.

At first, it had been subtle—just an off feeling, a vague sense that something was misplaced, that the world wasn't quite right. But now, it was undeniable.

They were fading.

'Why? Why is this happening? Is someone doing this to me?'

The one who had erased their memories… were they responsible? And what about The Fool? Do 'They' know? His words echoed in their mind, heavy with unspoken knowledge.

"You don't belong here."

A truth. A verdict.

At the time, they had nodded, accepted it. But now, in the suffocating silence of their room, something far worse than fear crept in.

Not just the fear of fading.

The fear of forgetting.

Forgetting themselves.

Forgetting what had led them here.

Forgetting why it mattered.

Their fingers trembled over the pendulum's surface. They knew if they tried to scry, if they attempted to force clarity, the pain would return—the sharp, unbearable pressure behind their eyes.

But they had no choice.

They needed proof that they were still real.

Slowly, Yeaia exhaled and let the pendulum dangle from their fingertips.

A simple question. A simple divination.

"Who am I?"

The chain twisted.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

Nothing.

The pendulum did not swing. It did not sway.

It was still.

Yeaia's breath hitched. Their chest tightened, a slow, creeping dread coiling up their spine.

No reaction.

Not yes. Not no.

Nothing.

As if the question itself had no answer.

Their fingers trembled, spasming uncontrollably—then the pendulum slipped from their grip, landing soundlessly against the sheets.

A hollow laugh escaped from their lips.

"Ha… haha… hahahaha…"

Yeaia pressed a hand against their face, laughter trembling on the edge of hysteria.

Something inside them screamed.

'I exist. I exist. I exist.'

Over and over, the thought pounded through their mind, desperate, defiant.

'I exist... I exist... I EXIST...'

But the more they clung to it, the more they felt something pressing against them—something denying them. A force, cold and vast, smothering the very notion of their being.

It terrified them.

But they could only continue.

They had to.

Yeaia clutched their head tightly, fingers digging in as if trying to anchor themselves.

They had to hold onto the thought—to carve it into their mind before it could fade.

Before they could fade.

But the silence in the room was suffocating.

No whispers of fate.

No guiding pull of divination.

No recognition.

Not even from the world itself.

---

Elsewhere, in the quiet stillness of the Gray Fog, Klein Moretti sat alone at the bronze table.

His fingers tapped idly against the surface, eyes fixed on the dim, flickering star before him.

It was… strange.

Even after everything, the memory of them was slipping.

Not all at once. Not suddenly. But like ink bleeding into water, details were losing definition.

The voice. The exact shape of their form. The precise words spoken.

If not for the star trembling before him, Klein might have doubted they had ever been there at all.

But they had been.

Hadn't they?

Klein's fingers curled slightly.

There was an old, familiar sensation creeping at the back of his mind.

The feeling of standing at the edge of a truth not meant to be seen.

Of something—or someone—pushing against the edges of perception, slipping away before it could fully take form.

Klein exhaled slowly.

This wasn't new.

He had encountered forgotten things before. Entities erased, histories wiped, names lost to time.

But this?

This was different.

Because this time, the forgetting was happening to him.

His mind fought against it. Resisted the unraveling of memory, the erosion of details. But the more he focused, the harder it became.

Like trying to hold onto a dream upon waking.

Like trying to recall a name that had never been spoken aloud.

Yeaia.

The name held. Barely.

He would not let it disappear.

Not yet.

Klein leaned back, eyes narrowing.

No matter what force was trying to erase them—whether it was fate, an unknown Pathway, or something even deeper—he refused to let it take control.

If this mystery wanted to remain hidden, then it had made a mistake.

Because now, he was involved.

And Klein Moretti never ignored a mystery once it reached his hands.

---

The following afternoon, above the boundless Gray Fog, Klein sat upon the high-backed chair of The Fool, his fingers steepled in thought.

Across from him, at the other end of the ancient, mottled table, sat another figure—The World. A shadowed reflection of himself, waiting in silence.

The Tarot Club gathering was about to begin.

The Fool would not ask this question.

But The World could.

'At times like this, I can truly appreciate the value of having an alt account…' Klein mused sarcastically.

One by one, the stars of his trusted members flickered into existence.

Justice. Hanged Man. Magician. Sun. Moon. Hermit.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Fool~! Good afternoon, Mr. Hanged Man! Good afternoon, Mr. Sun! Good afternoon, Miss Magician! Good afternoon, Mr. Moon! Good afternoon, Miss Hermit!" Audrey cheerfully greeted, standing up and lifting the hem of her skirt with a graceful curtsy.

They greeted one another, their usual pleasantries exchanged. The Fool's reading of the Roselle Diary, the customary free exchange—everything as expected.

Then, at the right moment, The World spoke.

"Has anyone ever experienced… a memory slipping? A person you swore existed, yet can no longer recall? A name at the edge of your tongue, but gone before you can grasp it?"

His gloved fingers moved in a subtle gesture.

"And… have you ever heard of someone named Yeaia?" The World asked, intentionally shifting his gaze toward the Hermit, aware that the Admiral had once had Yeaia aboard her ship with him.

Silence.

Then, an odd reaction.

Miss Justice blinked, tilting her head slightly. Her lips parted, then pressed into a frown, as if she was trying to remember something that wasn't quite there.

The Magician hesitated as well, brows furrowing. A fleeting look of confusion.

The others remained still.

Too still.

Alger Wilson, The Hanged Man, narrowed his eyes beneath his hood.

At first glance, this seemed like an idle question. A strange inquiry, but harmless. Yet the moment it left The World's lips, something in the air shifted.

A subtle unease settled in.

He had long since learned to be wary of The World. That man was ruthless, cunning—as expected of a crazy adventurer. But The World did not ask questions without reason.

Is this another task from Mr. Fool?

If so, it was something deeply hidden, something only The Fool and The World had caught wind of.

"I… don't believe I've heard that name before," Justice said, but there was something off about her voice. Uncertainty. A rare thing for her. She glanced at the others to see their reactions.

"Yes," Hanged Man added after a brief pause. "I don't recall any mention of such a person."

His own words felt… wrong. Like something was missing.

Odd. Why does it feel like I should know something?

Alger was not a superstitious man, but he had spent enough time navigating the murky depths of Beyonder knowledge to recognize a dangerous gap when he saw one. It was one thing to not know. It was another to feel like something had been removed.

Across from him, The World was watching.

Alger did not believe in coincidences.

The Sun frowned, deep in thought. "The City of Silver keeps strict records of its people. If someone vanished completely, it would be noticed… But sometimes, when we explore certain ruins, there are things we can't recall afterward."

His voice was cautious, yet thoughtful. "The elders say those thoughts belong to the darkness."

The Moon shifted slightly in his seat, his expression calm yet pensive.

"As a Sanguine, I have heard of certain cases where memories become… blurred," he said respectfully. "Some elders say it is the will of ancient blood, removing unwanted knowledge from the mind. Others believe it is the mark of something greater, something that does not wish to be remembered."

He glanced briefly at The World, crimson eyes reflecting a quiet thoughtfulness.

"I have not heard of this name, either," he admitted, "but that does not mean it never existed."

The Hermit adjusted her glasses. "There are rituals capable of erasing all traces of a person. But such feats require an immense level of power."

She cast a glance at The World, curiosity flickering in her deep, starry eyes. "Why do you ask?"

She had felt his gaze settle on her the moment he posed the question, and it made her wonder—had she ever met this Yeaia person?

Yeaia...

Yeaia?

Cattleya's pupils contracted as a memory resurfaced. 'Wait… Yeaia was aboard my ship once.

Why did I forget?'

This wasn't normal. A memory so recent should have been clear in her mind, yet it had slipped away as if it had never existed.

Her brows furrowed as she delved deeper into her thoughts. Then, after a pause, she spoke again, her voice slower, more measured.

"I… think I did meet this Yeaia person," she admitted, turning to The World. "They were aboard my ship—if I remember correctly, it was two days ago. But for some reason, I couldn't recall them until you mentioned their name. That's… strange."

The realization unsettled her. Why had her memory of Yeaia been so faint, so easily erased? And why was Gehrman Sparrow asking about them now? Had something happened to Yeaia?

She wanted to ask—but hesitated.

Would he even answer?

Instead, she settled for something simpler.

"Is there something wrong?"

Klein didn't answer right away. His gaze swept across the table, noting the absence of disbelief. No one had questioned the premise of his words.

No one had said, That's impossible. That can't happen.

Instead, they responded as if it could.

'And The Hermit… she forgot about Yeaia.'

A subtle tension coiled within him. If it were only his memory that was affected, he might have assumed he was being targeted. But if others—people who had interacted with Yeaia—were also forgetting…

It wasn't just missing memories. It was the absence of something that should have been there.

Something erased.

Klein's expression remained unreadable beneath his hood as he finally lowered his gaze.

"…It's nothing."

The conversation moved on. The meeting continued.

But Klein knew.

This was no coincidence.

Something was making sure no one remembered.

And that meant, now more than ever—

He had to remember.

He has to find Yeaia before something undesirable happens.

'I can pull Yeaia up the gray fog again...but I'll try to search for him in Toscarter first.'

---

The mirror in Yeaia's room reflected nothing.

No.

That wasn't true.

It reflected the room. The candle. The walls. The floor.

Everything—except them.

Yeaia stood before it, staring into the mirror where their image should have been.

A hollow, creeping dread slithered up their spine, coiling tight around their throat.

Slowly, hesitantly, they raised a hand.

Their fingers touched the glass.

Cold.

Too cold.

They were real. They had to be real.

Their breath came fast, shallow.

'...I'm here...I exist.'

Then—

A flicker.

Yeaia's hand flinched.

The glass rippled, twisting like something alive.

For a moment, their reflection returned.

But it was wrong.

The thing staring back at them had their face, but the eyes—

Blank. Empty. A void staring into them, through them. A reflection that was not their own.

Something had been watching.

A sickening weight settled in their gut.

'That's not me....not me....th-this is...'

The candlelight trembled. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls.

The reflection's lips parted.

Not in mimicry. Not as an echo.

It moved on its own.

No sound came from the glass, yet the words burrowed into Yeaia's mind, seeping into their thoughts like whispers in reverse.

"Not supposed to be."

"Not supposed to be."

"Not supposed to—"

The mirror shattered.

A sharp crack—glass exploding outward, shards slicing the air—

Yeaia staggered back, heart hammering against their ribs.

"No. No. No. What was that? What the hell was that?"

The reflection was gone.

Silence. Hollow. Suffocating.

Only the flickering candle remained.

Yeaia clenched their fists.

"I exist. I exist. I exist." Yeaia whispered, their voice frantic, barely more than a breath.

But the mirror said otherwise.

This wasn't just about memory anymore.

Something else was happening.

And whatever it was—

It was watching.

---

The alley was dark, choked with the scent of damp stone and distant smoke. The city's muffled noises felt strangely distant, as if reality itself was thinning.

Yeaia stumbled, one hand against the cold brick wall, their breath coming in shallow gasps. Their thoughts were a mess—disjointed, slipping through their fingers like sand.

They had to focus.

Had to hold on.

If they lost themselves now—

Yeaia suddenly sensed a presence.

They looked up.

A figure stepped into view, the shadows peeling away from him like they feared his touch.

A black trench coat. A top hat. Gold-rimmed glasses. A gaze sharp enough to cut through illusions.

Gehrman Sparrow.

His cold, calculating eyes settled on them. There was no immediate reaction. No drawn weapon, no sudden move—just assessment.

'Gehrman...? Why is he here...? How did he find me...?'

Like a predator watching something unfamiliar.

Yeaia swallowed. Their voice came hoarse, uncertain.

"…You can see me?"

Gehrman's expression remained unreadable.

"For now."

His voice carried weight—an anchor in the shifting haze of Yeaia's mind.

But something was off.

His stare lingered, intense, as if committing every detail to memory. Not out of recognition, but out of necessity.

As if he knew, on some deep instinctual level—

If he let his mind drift for even a second, they might vanish forever.

---

Gehrman moved.

Deliberate. Precise.

He didn't think he would actually find Yeaia so easily, a coincidence?

'This is far too coincidental for my taste… It reminds me too much of past events I'd rather not relive.'

Klein frowned.

He pulled a notebook from his coat, the leather cover worn beneath his gloved fingers. The crisp pages rustled as he flipped to an empty space, his pen poised with deliberate intent.

Without hesitation, he wrote a single name.

Yeaia.

The ink bled into the page.

Then—

It was gone.

Not smudged. Not faded. Just—erased. As if it had never been written at all.

Klein's jaw tightened. His fingers flexed around the pen. A quiet, creeping unease coiled in his chest.

He tried again. This time, pressing the pen harder, willing the name to stay.

Yeaia.

The letters twisted. Unraveled.

Then—vanished.

His pen stilled.

Slowly, his gaze lifted, meeting Yeaia's mismatched eyes. Red and silver, flickering like dying embers, like something struggling to hold its shape in a world that refused to contain it.

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, softly, he murmured their name aloud.

"Yeaia."

The sound—warped.

Not wrong, exactly. But not quite right, either.

Like the air itself refused to carry it.

Like reality itself was resisting them.

A chill crawled up his spine. His grip on the notebook tightened, as if anchoring himself against the quiet, insidious force clawing at the edges of his mind.

Something was trying to erase Yeaia.

His thoughts wavered. Their face blurred—not completely, not yet, but the weight of their presence felt unstable. Unsteady.

If he let go.

If he let himself forget—

Would they disappear entirely?

---

Their body felt wrong. Heavy and hollow all at once.

Fingers tingled, the sensation bleeding away like ink in water. Then their arm. Then their shoulder.

Piece by piece, the world unmade them.

Not all at once. That would have been merciful. It was slower. Crueler.

'I-I...'

Yeaia swayed. They could feel it—whatever was devouring them was growing stronger.

And the more Gehrman—no, Klein—clung to their existence, the more it resisted.

It did not want them here.

It was suffocating.

'It hurts...'

The edges of their vision darkened.

They needed to say something.

Warn him.

Ask Gehrman for help.

But the words—the very thought of words—slipped from their grasp.

Would he even hear them?

Would he even remember?

Seeing Yeaia struggle, Klein exhaled sharply, his mind scrambling for a solution.

But in that single breath—

His gaze flickered away.

For just a moment.

Less than a second.

A fraction of a heartbeat.

And when he looked back—

Yeaia was gone.

No footprints in the dirt.

No lingering warmth in the air.

No trace that they had ever been there at all.

A cold chill settled in Klein's chest. His fingers twitched. His mind fought against the void where their presence had been.

But it was already slipping.

Fading.

For the first time in a long time, Klein felt true fear.

A whisper curled at the edge of his thoughts.

'Yeaia shouldn't exist.'

And the worst part was—

Somewhere, deep inside him... a part of him agreed.